Allure Editors' Most Bizarre Beauty Treatments

Ladies, beauty treatments aren't always so beautiful. Be it an awkward burrito-esque body wrap, a firehose to the buttocks, or thigh electrocution, Allure editors have sampled some wildly memorable regimens and remedies over the years. Here, the wackiest experiences we've had both on and off the clock.

"I got a milkweed facial. Did you know that milkweed is what caterpillars rest their cocoons on before becoming butterflies? I did not turn into a butterfly. I turned into the most rancid-smelling person on the subway. A girl even got up and moved seats to get away from me because I smelled so bad. They mixed the milkweed with yogurt, and between the texture and the smell, I nearly gagged. It was like rotten milk. I've never washed off a treatment so fast in my life." —Catherine Q. O'Neill, beauty news editor

"When I was in my late teens and my mother was concerned about my weight, I was sent to Elizabeth Arden for massages. They always ended with me naked and ten feet away from the masseuse who was aiming a fire hose at my butt and pounding me with a stream of water strong enough to break a sapling. The butt remained the same. Maybe this is why I now flee when offered sample beauty treatments. Skepticism is useful in my job." —Joan Kron, contributing editor at large

"I once went into a backyard sauna (a banya) in Siberia, and my friend and I beat each other with birch rods. Practically every house in Siberia has a banya—essentially a homemade sauna—it's the traditional way people relax and clean themselves. The birch branches are more like vigorous exfoliation than a real beating. I'll say this of the whole experience: I thought a steam session in a homemade wooden outbuilding with a dirt floor would not leave me feeling very clean, but sweating it out (and then rinsing with cold water) was the most invigorating bathing experience of my life." —Elizabeth Angell, articles editor

"I tried a butt-slimming/tightening treatment that some of the Victoria's Secret models get before shoots and shows. It's a two-part treatment: First, a heated machine was aggressively rubbed all over my butt and thighs to break up fat. Part two involved being hooked up to an electrical stimulation machine—the same kind that physical therapists use—so electrodes were placed on my skin to cause the muscles to contract and release. For my treatment, it was cranked up pretty high, much higher than I've ever had for physical therapy. (I was in P.T. for two years in high school for a ballet injury and last year for some ankle problems, also dance-related.)

After that, the technician rubbed a strange cream all over my butt and thighs that got really, really warm, wrapped my thighs in plastic wrap, and sent me home. Two days later, my left knee was so swollen, I could barely bend it. The electrical stimulation had aggravated the fascia (the connective tissue fibers) around my knee. End of story: My ass still looked the same, but I was back in physical therapy trying to get the swelling down around my knee for about three weeks. Nightmare." —Sophia Panych, digital beauty editor

"I once treated myself to a 90-minute ginger scrub/hot wrap thinking I'd find it relaxing, and instead, it was like being trapped in one of those Birds Eye microwavable vegetable bags—very steamy stuff. My aesthetician exited the room, ostensibly so that I could get Zen, but while she was gone, I panicked that I'd never be able to get out of my lava-hot potpourri straitjacket without her assistance. As I struggled to move my shoulders, I kept picturing her just outside the door casually scrolling through her Facebook feed, before coming back to a pile of me, grotesquely melted like some Garbage Pail Kids illustration.

Adding to what made it the oddest experience I'd ever had in a spa was the fact that I got to choose my own soundtrack and selected an episode of the How Did This Get Made? movie podcast about the J.Lo pregnancy romp The Back-up Plan.

I didn't notice a difference in my skin texture after my scrub-wrap hybrid, but I did smell amazing on my subway ride home. Plus, thanks to the podcast, I learned that contrary to what happens in a pivotal scene of The Back-up Plan, wine is not flammable. So, you know, net win." —Kate Sullivan, contributor

"I got a jalapeño-coffee body wrap and hated every second of it. They warmed up what looked like blended black-bean soup in a Tupperware (I swear) and smeared it on me. Then I got wrapped up in foil Chipotle-style and just had to sit there for what felt like a billion years. It wasn't relaxing at all, just gross, like I was marinating in sludge. Then I had to unwrap and awkwardly walk across the hall to a room where I could shower—dripping black-bean-soup-ish liquid the whole way." —Stephanie Saltzman, associate digital editor

"I've tried hammams in Istanbul, medical pedicures with knives and scalpels in Paris (fantastic), a honey body treatment at Nuxe spa, which is in a medieval cellar in Paris, reflexology in New Orleans (excellent), a massage in a machine at the Anchorage airport (surprisingly great). But my weirdest beauty-treatment experience happened when I was getting a body scrub and the health inspector arrived at the spa. The women working at the spa didn't tell the customers what was going on. They just nudged us (it was a communal room) to get off the massage tables (I was naked) and stand up (I was naked) while they removed the pool mat from each table and then motioned us back onto the now bare, hard surface. Did I mention I was naked?

The workers tossed the mats out the back door (which, I discovered later, was the parking lot). Then the inspector marched in and checked the room while, yes, I was naked. She marked a few things on her clipboard and marched out. Later, in the lobby, I saw the inspector. So of course, I questioned what was up. Any violations? I asked. Yes, she said. There was an open jar of cream in the massage room. I didn't have the heart to tell her about the pool mats, which were now marinating in motor oil and chewed gum in the parking lot." —Linda Wells, editor in chief